


Buyer's Market

by PotatoLady



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy, Gen, Past Abuse, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-01-22 10:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoLady/pseuds/PotatoLady
Summary: In the eyes of the world, Galen has no value. A slave who's run away too many times to be trusted, and who is too emotionless to be interesting.Mariah has a weakness for impulse purchases, but this is one he won't regret.
Relationships: Original Character & Original Character
Comments: 22
Kudos: 69





	1. Markdown

**Author's Note:**

> This is an impulse project about two impulsive people. Hoping to keep it down to three chapters!

"Perhaps we could--cover them?"

Galen ignored Petro's look of distaste with the ease of long practice, focusing his attention instead on the tile floor beneath his feet. The grout was filthy, probably had never been given a proper scrubbing in its life.

The slave-trader's assistant snorted, grabbing Galen by the wrist and all but shoving Galen's captured arm into the slave-trader's face. Petro , a man who valued his linen and his baths, recoiled from the grimy limb as if it were a snake that could bite him.

"Cover *these*?" 

The assistant, whose name Galen had never bothered to learn, was caustic and confrontational to anyone she could reasonably be expected to bully, and cruel when there was no one who could reasonably bully her back. She let Galen's arm flop limply back to his side, done with it for the moment. Galen kept staring at the tiles. One was cracked. He wondered if something had been dropped on it.

"and what, pray tell, would we cover them with, boss? Ladies' paste? Some paint? I know, let's make him wear a shirt and not let a single buyer examine him before purchase. Maybe then no one will come complaining that you've sold them a ten-time-runaway slave." 

Galen's gaze flicked, if only for an instant, to his arm. The black bars ringing the length of his forearm were certainly not discreet. One for every time he'd tried for freedom. One to mark every time he'd been caught, beaten, and sold on instead of killed. One black bar marked a slave who nearly no one would buy. Ten, and the bearer yet living? A miracle. Just not a profitable one.

"He was part of a batch, Lise," Petro said. "Auctioned off together. I didn't have a chance to check."

"You did after you bought them," Lise snapped. "Would have saved all the cash we've spent on feeding him. He's not worth keeping another day, not with these."

Petro wrapped his linen sash tightly around his waist, looking slightly uneasy.

"We could wait one more day. Give him a severe discount, see if anyone buys. You know I hate you coming home all bloody."

"Keep him one more day. Sure, and then another day, and another. Keep on keeping him until he's eaten the last of our profits. Let me take care of him, all right? It will hardly be a loss."

Galen's throat was dry--not from fear, but from a day in the hot sun without his usual ration of water. He licked his lips, kept watching the green tile, and wondered why his heart was pounding. He had long since lived past his death-day. There was nothing left of him but a body, tired and sore and afraid of pain. What could death do but set him free? Why did the thought still frighten him when he had nothing left to lose?

* * *

"It's not as if I've got that much to lose," Mariah reasoned sensibly. "Only twelve coppers. If I end up throwing them away on another knick knack--"

"Then you will run out of shelving," Cavo, perched on his shoulder, croaked sensibly. "Please, for your own sake, avoid the market today."

Mariah shot the bird a dirty look, and Cavo responded by ruffling his shining black plumage before setting it all in order again.

"It's either one perilously knick-knack-filled journey through the market, or two hours of walking in side-streets." He said, being reasonable again. He knew Cavo hated when he was reasonable.

The raven ruffled his throat feathers, blinking beady black eyes irritably. Like Mariah himself, Cavo preferred their home--small as it was--to just about anywhere else.

"Unfair," Cavo croaked, "but it's a cheat I'll bow to. The marketplace it is."

Mariah grinned, intensely aware of Cavo side-eying him.

"Please don't buy any more useless knick-knacks,"

"No promises," Mariah said, and stepped into the open market.

* * *

"I'm telling you, it's a waste. Of. Our. Time." Lise hissed. 

For the first time since the argument had begun, Petro did not have any counter. He looked uncomfortable and unhappy, but Galen could tell that his ability to argue was waning. Lise could tell, too. She grabbed Galen by the arm without looking at him.

"Tell you what. I'll take him away and you won't have to watch. You won't have to clean up. You can settle accounts here and I'll be back before you know it."

Her fingers were pressing deep into Galen's skin, causing a throbbing, uneasy pain. His blood felt thick and heavy.

Petro sighed. "All right," he said, pursing his lips. "Make it quick, Lise. And painless."

He turned away as Lise laughed.

"Sure thing, boss," she said, and suddenly tugged on Galen's arm, expecting him to follow.

Galen reacted without thinking, jerking himself backwards. The movement sent a jolt of adrenaline into him, the indescribable mix of thrill and terror that was disobeying a master. It was useless, running. They always caught you. But, Galen had realized long ago--for a glorious moment, they were utterly unable to _stop _you.

He fled. Lise roared after him, but he ignored her, as he always did, losing himself instead in the thrill of the steady slap of his own feet on the tiles of the marketplace. The colors of the seller's tents seemed brighter than they had been, the smell of spiced foods sold cheap more intense. People ducked and dodged out of his way. Galen was aware that he was being thoughtless, but he had earned it. He was, after all, about to die. He swiveled his head around to see how close Lise was behind him, and caught a glimpse of her furious face. Still far enough to lead a bit of a chase, he thought with a thrill. Still enough.

He swing his head around to the path in front of him just in time to register a pair of flapping black wings and a man's very startled face. He couldn't stop in time. He tripped in his attempt to slow down, slamming his head into the man's chest. His vision flashed white, blinding him, and he reached out to find some handhold that would keep him from falling, but only succeeded in shoving the man harshly backwards before falling directly on top of him. 

The man groaned. A bird--the owner of the wings--was squawking wildly, pecking at Galen's head.

Lise's sharp footsteps approached and halted again. He could feel her eyes on his back. The chase was over.

* * * 

"Unnnggghhh." Mariah managed. It was all he could manage.

He felt that, managing-things-wise, being able to groan should be considered going above and beyond the line of duty. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't.

Cavo was shrieking in his ear. Or, rather, in the ear of the man currently sprawled on top of Mariah's chest, motionless as the dead.

"Get up! Get up, you idiot! You're crushing him! Do you always go dashing through crowded marketplaces without giving a thought to where you're going, or is today the exception?"

Mariah blinked, looking at the man on top of him--mostly to be assured that he wasn't dead. His eyes were open, but staring at nothing. Mariah frowned. The man was breathing quick and heavily--frightened. Very frightened. But of what?

Before he could open his mouth to ask, someone hauled the man off of him. Mariah took a breath in relief, getting to his own feet with some difficulty. A young woman had his attacker by the collar. Not the collar of a shirt, but an actual iron collar. Mariah hadn't noticed it before--it, or the scarred tattoos covering the man's arm. He was a slave, Mariah realized with a twinge of discomfort. A slave who'd been running. No wonder he was afraid.

"Very sorry, sir." The woman said, her voice clipped. "He's a slippery one. Rest assured he'll be properly punished for disturbing you,"

The feeling of discomfort worsened. Mariah didn't want anyone punished, not on his account. He opened his mouth to explain that it was no trouble, really, but Cavo beat him to it.

"Disturbing us?" He squawked. "He's bowled us straight over! He could have killed us!"

The woman squinted at Cavo, then raised an eyebrow at Mariah.

"You teach him to say all that?" She asked. "Impressive."

"Yes," Mariah said. "Taught him everything he knows. He's a really clever little beast, you know."

Cavo pinned him with an indignant look, but Mariah couldn't regret the lie. He grinned back.

A man came panting into the small circle that Mariah's fall had carved into the crowd.

"Ah," he heaved, "You've caught him. Good. Thank you, Lise."

"Told you he was more trouble than he's worth," the woman said.

Mariah had decided he didn't like her.

"He just assaulted this man."

"He didn't--" Mariah began, but the other man cut him off, snapping towards him with wide eyes.

"Oh, dear! Sir! I am so very sorry, that is inexcusable. We've had trouble selling him, and had only just decided to have him quietly put down--we are not rich, not by any means, but if there is any kind of compensation I could offer that would appeal to you, I would be more than happy to comply."

They were going to kill the man. Mariah looked at him, more in shock than anything else, and found him staring at the floor of the market. No fear in his eyes. No...anything. But there had been something earlier; human emotion, carefully hidden, but very much present. It made Mariah's very ribs ache.

"What about him?" He found himself asking.

"What about him?" The woman, Lise, snapped. "He's dangerous. It would be irresponsible to let him live any longer."

Cavo was pecking his ear, no doubt trying to inform him of how little he approved of the direction this was taking, but Mariah couldn't stop. His heart was beating harder now than when he'd been bowled over. They were talking about killing a man, right in front of him, and he had to do something.

"I want him," he said stubbornly. "It's only fair. He was the one who knocked me down, and you don't want him anyway. I can decide if he's too dangerous later."

"What--no," the woman said, looking honestly surprised. Mariah took a vicious pleasure in seeing her discomfited. "We were going to--"

But the man was beaming.

"Wonderful!" He said. "Of course, that would be very fair. He is a strong slave, and usually obedient. Under a close eye and a tight leash, he would greatly benefit any household."

Mariah smiled tightly, glancing at the man. He looked--pale. Worse than when they'd been discussing his immediate death, to be honest.

"I'm sure," Mariah said. "is there--papers? Do I need to sign something?"

He did. It took ten minutes. And then the smiling man and the scowling woman were both gone, and Mariah stood, blinking, at the edge of the market with his new slave.

"I thought I told you," Cavo croaked. "No impulse purchases."

Mariah looked at the man, who still didn't have a name, and at Cavo. He was feeling an immense desire to laugh--though at what, he had no clue.

"In my defense," he managed, "I didn't technically buy anything."


	2. Household

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galen gets settled in, Mariah is a mess, and Cavo voices some concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely people! Thanks for reading!

Galen still needed water. He wouldn't ask for it, in any case, but it still bothered him that had he been of a mind to, he couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise. His new master was incredibly vocal, as was the bird.

  
He could have sworn the bird was side-eying him, too. It was disturbing.

  
It might have been more disturbing if Galen had been blessed with room in his mind for another worry. As it was, he had enough to think about.

  
It had almost been over. He'd run, yes, but only because it had seemed like his last chance to do so. He hadn't wanted to die heavy with the weight of old chains--but the dying itself was something he had almost looked forward to. It had been a promise of an end.

  
He wasn't sure what this was a promise of. A continuation of an worthless life at best. At worst, his new master was a vengeance-minded man who hadn't enjoyed being run over by a discounted slave.

  
"And here we are!" The new master said, with a sweeping arm gesture that served to startle Galen out of his stupor. He looked up at the house briefly--it was surprisingly humble, a small villa of pink stone and green glass windows. A tiny garden lay in the space between the outer gate and the door of the house itself. Galen stared at it appreciatively, wondering if he could identify any of the half-wild plants. He found two familiar ones--Hollowjade and Stingray Grass--before he realized that his new master was not leading him further. He was holding the gate, looking expectantly at Galen, a perfect mockery of a free man inviting in another free man as a guest. Galen's stomach plummeted. So, the new master was vengeance-minded after all, and instead of death, Galen had a future of pain and punishment to look forward to. He wondered if this was a curse particular to him, or if all slaves led similar lives. If that was so, then there was more misery in the world than he dared contemplate.

  
* * *

  
His new slave seemed to have shut down. Mariah blinked at the man, wondering what he'd neglected to make clear. There was the house, and the gate, and--it all seemed pretty obvious, really. Trying to explain would only be condescending; but still, he had to find something to say. His new slave was standing in the street, head bowed and shoulders curled in protectively as if the collar on the man's neck was also the lodestone of his existence. Mariah stood at the gate, feeling increasingly awkward. Cavo sat on his shoulder in statuesque silence, not about to be any help.

  
"Um," he said. "Come on in?"

  
In response, the man flinched. Not violently, but enough that Mariah noticed. He blinked, looking back on everything he'd done and said on the way home from the market, trying to find whatever it was that had made this man too afraid to even step past his gate.

  
"Forgive me," the man said. His voice was raspy and dry, like a sawblade gone to rust. It was the first time Mariah had heard him speak. "I realize I have overstepped my place. Please, master, I will not have such presumption again. It is not a habit, I promise."

  
Presumption? Mariah blinked. Knocking a man down wasn't exactly humble, he supposed, but it wasn't something he'd classify as presumption either.

  
"It's perfectly all right," he said, because at least that remained true no matter what the man was talking about. "I'm not angry. Just--please, come in."

  
"I cannot cross the threshold before you, master. That would be forgetting my place."

  
"So instead you're going to stand in the street and argue," Cavo chimed in. "Your temerity is admirable."

  
The man--Mariah really needed to get his name--flinched again, harder this time. Mariah couldn't take it.

  
He took a step inside the gate, still holding it open. "Come in," he said. This time, the man followed without a word, though he still looked like a large turtle trying to hide in a small shell.

  
"Sorry," he offered, closing the gate after him while the man waited silently on the path. "I'm new to all this. It really is all right, though." He thought for a moment as he got to his front door--careful to open it and step through this time, if only to avoid any fuss. "I'm not--looking to trip you up, or anything."

  
"There's been enough tripping up today," Cavo added, which was both ill-natured and entirely unhelpful.

  
"Cavo!" Mariah snapped. "Stop being an ass!"

  
The raven had the impossible gall to look offended. He ruffled his feathers, and promptly hopped off of Mariah's shoulder, flapping his wings and flying out to perch in one of the fruit trees in the garden, not giving either of them a second thought.

  
Mariah shut the door behind him, leaving himself alone in the house with a complete and total stranger.

  
Whom he now owned.

  
Who also seemed incapable of looking up from the floor.

  
"My name's Mariah," he offered. "You can--you can call me by it. Everyone does."

  
Silence.

  
"What's your name?" He asked, feeling faintly hopeless.

  
"Galen," the man offered, and Mariah felt a rush of relief at hearing him speak. He had such an uncanny capacity for silence that Mariah couldn't help but worry he would just wander the house in ghostlike mummery forever. It was not an image of the immediate future he much liked.

  
"Oh, good!" He burst out. "I--mean. That's a good name! It's--"

  
He caught Galen looking at him from under his brows, an expression so slight that to anyone not desperately reaching for any sign of emotion, it would have been invisible; but it was an expression, nonetheless.

Amusement.

  
He flushed. 

  
"It's good," he concluded lamely. "Anyway. Um, is there anything you're particularly good at, Galen? What do you usually do?"

  
Galen looked up slightly, a question on his face that would never touch his lips, and Mariah rushed to explain.

  
"I wasn't planning on buying--anyone. Not ever, really, but definitely not today. I'm not sure what to have you do here, honestly, but I'd rather give you something you would be familiar with."

  
Galen still looked confused, but he hid the expression well enough.

  
"I'm not skilled in any kind of labor, master. I do as I'm told. I've served tables, prepared food in kitchens, fetched and carried. Nothing more than that."

  
Mariah frowned. Not because of the words, but because of the halt in Galen's speech, right before the end--as though he'd started with the intent to say a thing he later decided against. Well, Mariah thought, the man was allowed his secrets.

  
"All right," Mariah said. He thought through his daily tasks. There was certainly room in his household for some help--he was constantly short on time, it seemed--but it was hard to tell where. He glanced around the dim entryway, and caught his gaze on the shelves that lined the walls, covered in dust and small, mismatched knick-knacks.  
Perfect.

  
"Are you any hand at cleaning?" He asked.

  
* * *

  
Nothing was going the way Galen had expected. It wasn't going badly--he didn't think--but he didn't know if it was going well, either.

  
His new master hadn't so much as raised his voice yet. He'd shown Galen through the house--which hadn't taken long--and then promptly handed him a bucket, a rag and a broom and told him to clean.

  
Galen had rarely felt so lost in his life. The house was crowded, full of small, delicate things that looked very easy to break by accident. It was entirely possible the master was set on tripping him up, even now; but if so, Galen thought he could manage to avoid making any mistakes. He'd succeeded harder tasks when his hide was on the line.

  
Mariah had shown him where the pump for the water was and promptly disappeared. Galen thought it would be a good idea to fill the bucket before he did anything else, so he went out into the garden, weaving down the path towards the pump. The afternoon sun glowed warm and golden in the leaves, and Galen closed his eyes halfway as he walked, enjoying what bit of it he could before he had to go back inside. He set the bucket down by the pump with a clatter, throwing his back into the lever to bring up the cool, clean water. As it spilled into the bucket, Galen's mouth seemed to grow drier, his throat protesting the torture of his thirst.

  
Galen glanced towards the house. The master hadn't said he could have water. He hadn't said he couldn't, though, either. And he might not even be watching.

  
At the next rush of water, Galen ducked his head underneath, catching a heavenly mouthful. He gulped greedily, jerking back as soon as his baser instincts allowed and wiping the evidence away from his mouth. He glanced around, making sure the master hadn't seen.

  
As he swiveled his head, he came face-to-face with the master's bird. The creature was studying him narrowly, and Galen felt his stomach plummet. If the bird wanted to tell tales, it was his skin on the line; but Galen had never been a great hand at begging. Instead, they stared at one another for a moment.

  
"You really needn't be so terrified," the bird said. It was just about the last thing that Galen had been expecting him to say, and he blinked in surprise. The bird went on.

  
"Mariah's not going to care if you drink when you're thirsty. Knowing him, it'd break his heart to think you doubted that."

  
Galen wasn't sure if he trusted the bird. It's eyes were too beady, too clever, and he had the distinct feeling that it didn't like him.

  
"Fine, don't believe me." It said dryly, and Galen stiffened, wondering if it could read minds. "Just be aware: Mariah is a soft-hearted fool. If you think he's playing a trick on you, please give equal consideration to the possibility that your master is just being an idiot, with no malice towards yourself whatsoever."

  
"I will, sir," Galen said, unsure of the proper address for a talking animal who acted like his master's equal. He bowed his head, hoping the conversation would be over soon.  
There was no tell-tale flap of wings, though, no croaked dismissal. When Galen looked up again, the bird was looking him over critically.

"Just out of curiosity," it asked, "Is there any particular reason you don't believe me, or is it just habit?"

  
The loosening of Galen's tongue, like the loosening of his feet, is never entirely under his control.

  
"You don't seem to like me very much, sir," he offered.

  
"I don't like how you smell," the bird replied, without missing a moment. "I'm sure you're perfectly fine, but you stink of something I feel as though I should recognize, and I don't like it."

It ruffled its feathers, as though to dismiss the subject.

"I have an aversion to Mariah's habit of clogging up his personal life with more things than he knows how to take care of, as well, but there's little to be done about that. If you are going to stay here, I'd just as soon you weren't terrified of it."

  
Galen couldn't control his expression. His eyebrows drew together as inexorably as sandal-straps being tied tight.

  
"Ah, now I've confused you." The bird noted. "I'll leave you to--whatever it is you're doing."

  
"Cleaning," Galen supplied dully.

  
"Really?" It said, cocking its head. "Well. Maybe I'm happy you're here after all."

  
And with that, the bird took off. Galen followed it with his gaze until it reached a second-story window and dipped inside.  
He turned back to his bucket. It was full enough of water, and Galen had a small armful of rags. They were not the best dusting materials, but they would do--hopefully, well enough to keep him from earning a whipping on his first day here.  
Then again, it was rare he was that lucky.  
But on the other hand, Galen thought as he picked up his bucket, this place was different. It seemed to have no rules of etiquette, no caring for rank. The bird had been more open and honest with Galen than anyone had been with him in his life, and the master--Galen was not sure what to think of the master. He feared the man, but it was more out of a sense of duty than anything else.

  
He walked back towards the house, but as he came to the threshold, he dared to pause for a moment, just to turn his face up towards the sun. It was warm and golden, its heat dampened by the cool air of the green garden.

  
He couldn't help but wonder as he finally walked inside the house. He had thought his heart too old for happiness.

  
* * *

  
Mariah heaved with all his strength, finally dislodging the heaviest of the boxes. He lifted it up, tottering with it awkwardly to the doorway of the room before setting it down again, panting as he did so.

  
There was a flapping of wings at the window, and a short moment of silence before a voice croaked:

  
"I thought you'd tasked him with the cleaning. The point of having a slave is so that you don't have to do all of this yourself, you know."

  
Mariah looked at Cavo, still puffing out hasty breaths, and dramatically dusted off his hands.

"The point," he said, turning back to his work, "Is to lessen the load, not shove it off and leave someone else struggling. Besides, I want this to be a surprise."

  
"Dusty boxes?" Cavo asked, flapping into the room and settling in top of a high-stacked crate to survey the chaos. "Leave them out in the hallway after nightfall and I suppose they're bound to surprise someone."

  
"Not the boxes," Mariah huffed. "the room."

  
"The room," Cavo reiterated.

  
"He'll need somewhere to sleep, won't he?"  
The raven cocked his head. "And a pallet in the kitchen is insufficient?"

  
"Very," Mariah said, with what he hoped was a decisive tone, as he knelt to lift another box.

  
"You're going to confuse the hell out of him. I hope you realize that."

  
Mariah scowled. The box was heavy, and kept trying to slide out of his hands, scratching his palms.

  
"He'll have to get used to it," he said. "I've never liked the way slaves are treated--I'm not going to turn around and pretend he's something less than a person, just because I happened to buy him." 

He dropped the offending box and turned around, facing Cavo again, and letting his frustration show on his face.

"I'm really surprised at you, Cavo. What did you want me to do, leave him to die?"

  
Cavo hopped down from his high perch, landing on another box that was of a height with Mariah's gaze.

  
"You know what I am," he said, solemn for once. "I'll never understand you humans' terror of death, but I do understand cruelty, enough to hate it, at least. I'm not unhappy you had a heart to help a stranger--a stranger you just as well might have considered below you. But he--something about him disturbs me," he said, with a final ruffle of feathers. "It's something I can't name. Something I--don't think I can touch."

  
That was enough to stop Mariah in his thoughts.

  
"Something you can't touch? He asked, disbelieving. "I thought there wasn't anything, magic or otherwise, that was entirely out of your reach."

  
"I thought so, too." Cavo croaked. "But at the moment, at least, he is evading me."

  
"That is troubling," Mariah said.

  
Just at that moment, there was a pounding knock on the door, making both Mariah and Cavo jump. Mariah looked around for a stick or some other sort of weapon, wondering what hordes of the damned were upon them now, before he recovered enough to realize the more likely possibility--just a caller.

  
He stood, dusting his hands off on his tunic.

"Come on," he said. "Let's see who's at the door."  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter (I think) :D this is an impulse write, so I'm making up any and all plot points on the fly--please let me know if you see any inconsistencies! I can go back and edit them out :)


	3. Return Policy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone Galen knows comes knocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely people! Thanks for sticking with me through this little impulse write! Love you guys <3

When the knock on the door sounded, Galen froze. He had been hallway through wiping a layer of dust off of a small china cat, and he held it in his hands as he cocked an ear to listen.

  
Was he supposed to answer?

  
The knock came again, and Galen set the figurine back on the shelf, wiping his hands on his rag and mentally weighing the danger of answering the door when he wasn't supposed to with the equal and opposite danger of not answering the door when he was.

  
There was a thump and a clatter from upstairs. Galen instinctively ducked out of sight as his new master ran down the steps, taking them two at a time while the raven flapped around him. He didn't look angry at having to answer his own door, at least; but Galen still stayed in the shadows, out of sight but within listening distance.

  
Mariah opened the door, exchanging what sounded like a polite greeting with the man outside.

  
Galen's blood turned to ice.

  
He recognized that voice. He knew why the man was here. And he would be damned to the depths if he listened to this for a moment longer.

  
* * *

  
Mariah smiled politely at the man standing in front of him, wishing he'd go away. He was oily and soft-spoken and was taking forever to get to whatever his point was (Mariah's bet was on tract sales for the local Temple of Jure).

  
"--really, such a lovely garden," he continued, folding his manicured hands one over the other in a motion too measured to be a nervous habit. "You must be very proud."

  
"Yes," Mariah said, and the man nodded, blinking blissfully at a small patch of weeds.

Mariah waited, then said,

  
"Did you just come to compliment the garden, or..?"

  
Honestly, he would probably pay for the tracts, if only to get the man to leave. He had coins burning a hole in his pocket anyway.

  
"Oh, no," the man said, turning his cherubic smile back towards Mariah's general direction. "No, I actually came hoping to make a purchase."

  
"Of what?" Mariah asked. "I don't sell my plants."

  
The man laughed with far too much good nature to be responding to Mariah's somewhat peeved tone.

  
"No! Goodness, me. No. I'm here to buy your slave."

  
* * *

  
Not again. The thought pounded like a pulse through Galen's very bones. Not again.

  
He had retreated as far into the house as he could, into a small closet of a room that seemed solely dedicated to housing shelves upon shelves of knick-knacks. He circled the room, reaching for things to dust and turning them over and over in his hands before placing them back, painfully aware that he was not putting anything back correctly, but too distracted to care.

  
The sound of his former master's voice had settled upon him like a fever, bringing back stabbing shards of memories--things he'd almost managed to forget. The scalpel that had opened his veins, the saw that had split his bones, both held in worm-soft hands that would tear him apart or bandage him up again with equal steadiness. He didn't know how long he'd been in that hell. He didn't want to know. All he knew was that he never, ever wanted to go back.

  
Running was useless, he reminded himself. He folded the cloth, setting it carefully on the shelf next to a carved jade pendant depicting a fox stealing away a chicken. He dusted his hands on his tunic.

  
It was time to run.

  
* * *

  
"Excuse me?" Mariah asked.

  
"Your slave," the stranger said with a smile. "I'd like to buy him."

  
"I've only just bought him myself," Mariah said.

  
"Yes, so I'd heard," the stranger said. "My contact in the market had arranged to bring him to me for a small fee. She was unable, but she did manage to lead me to you. I'm willing to pay well for him--he was a former slave of mine, you understand, who managed to slip away. I'm sure you can imagine the sentimental value."

  
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not about to sell him," Mariah said. "As I said, I've only just bought him, and I've got an affinity for new, shiny things. Perhaps later?" He tried closing the door. With a sick sense of shock, he found himself utterly unable to make it budge.

  
The stranger's hand was flat against the door, somehow holding it steady with nothing but his open palm. His smile was still in place, not even showing the strain of effort.   
Mariah shoved hard against the door. He slammed all his weight into it. He heaved and strained.

  
It did not move.

  
Slowly, the stranger began to push the door inward, casually, as though he had been invited in by a friend.

  
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," he said.

  
"Insist--I insist!" Mariah roared back, attempting to hold his door steady. For a second, he thought he was succeeding, but the second he looked up, he saw that the stranger was staring past his shoulder and no longer trying to push the door open. That eerie smile was still on his face.

  
"Ah, my failed experiment," the stranger said.

  
Mariah looked over his shoulder. He saw Cavo, sitting on the bottom step with rumpled feathers, hunched into himself and staring at the stranger with wide eyes; and he saw Galen, frozen in the middle of the room. His eyes were on the man at the door, as though he had lost the ability to see anything else. His hands were trembling.

  
That settled it. He'd be going to Hell before he let Galen fall into this monster's clutches again.

  
"Galen!" He shouted. "Run!"

  
By which, of course, he meant 'run out the back way and into the alley, where you can conveniently lose yourself in the tangled back streets'.

  
It occurred to him too late that he'd never shown Galen the back door.

  
Galen did run. Straight forward, barrelling into the stranger at a full sprint. To Mariah's shock, the stranger fell backwards--probably more from surprise than anything else, but it was enough to let Galen leap over his prone form and flee down the street.

  
The stranger didn't get up to run after him. Mariah looked down, perplexed.

  
The smile was still on the man's face, but a trickling stream of red was eking down the garden path, leading straight to the man's skull.

  
* * *

  
"What was he?"

  
The harsh *shhnk* of a shovel piercing dirt punctuated Mariah's question. He lifted the dirt up out of the hole he was digging, tossing it to the side.

  
"Not human," Cavo said. His feathers were neater now, but he still looked nothing like his usual dignified self. "Not my kind, either. He might have been one or the other, once, but--" he shivered. "I fear no magic of gods or men. But if I smell evil that potent again--" he ruffled his feathers again in a shiver. "I don't know what I'd do."

  
"Die, probably." Mariah said with mock solemnity. The raven side-eyed him.

  
"Glad to know I inspire so much confidence," he said.

  
Mariah laughed, and jumped out of the hole he'd just dug. Grabbing the edges of the cloth-wrapped bundle currently squashing his kineweed bush, he heaved it into the hole, where it landed with a thud.

  
"You inspire a great deal of confidence, my friend," Mariah said. "But I'm still very glad that whatever this thing was, it's dead now."   
He picked up the shovel again to cover it over, hoping it wouldn't poison his garden. He'd hate to have to dig it up again.

  
"There, we agree." The raven said, flapping over to rest on Mariah's shoulder.

  
* * *

  
Galen managed three days. Three days of hunger, cold, and huddling in street corners and under awnings to sleep.

  
They hadn't been a comfortable three days; but they had been--something. Peaceful, Galen thought, in a way that nothing he could remember ever quite matched.

  
Nothing, that was, except one moment in time that he could remember with utter clarity: a bucket of water, a setting sun, and a summer garden bathed in golden light.   
Perhaps it was the surfeit of peace that made him hunger for more; or, perhaps, a city only had so many corners that you could be shooed away from until you ended up back where you started. Either way, he found himself in another patch of golden light--morning light, this time--looking at that same garden.

  
The corpsetree was new.

  
He was still staring at it when a voice startled him.

  
"It seemed appropriate," Mariah said. He was standing on just the other side of the fence, thick leather gloves making his hands seem twice as large and three times as awkward. "Considering."

  
Galen frowned.

  
"He's dead." Mariah clarified. "Whoever he was to you, he's dead."

  
Galen nodded. He could still feel aftershocks of that horrible, gentle voice--those soft hands that never let up in their work. He could still feel the hard stone slab under his back.

  
His old master had done enough damage for one lifetime.

  
"You didn't sell me to him," Galen said. "You didn't let him in."

  
He knew he must have offered Mariah a great deal of money--far more than Galen was worth. But instead of taking it, Mariah had told him to run.

  
Mariah shrugged. "Didn't really consider you mine to sell."

  
Before Galen could ponder some meaning into that, Mariah waved to the garden.

  
"Do you know anything about pruning?" He asked. "Cavo's making sure dinner doesn't boil over, and I'm trying to get these bushes into fighting shape."

  
Galen raised his head. "I know a little," he said.

  
"Come on in, then." Mariah said, waving him inside. "help me out before we have dinner."   
Galen blinked.

  
He'd never run without being caught. Not once. Ten times he'd fled, and he had ten tattoos and even more scars to show for it. He'd always wondered what would happen if he really did manage to get free. The best he'd hoped for was something survivable--somewhere that, no matter how little anyone thought of him, he could still decide his own worth.

  
He'd never imagined being able to choose something like this.

  
He put a hand on the gate, and walked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't tie up ALL the loose ends that I wanted to, but I got most of them. thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
